


Call me whatever, I just want to be yours

by surrenderdammit



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, Fluff, PWP, Passing mention of past dub-con, Romance, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderdammit/pseuds/surrenderdammit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Let’s get dinner, just the two of us, next time,” Aaron comments, helping her into her coat because he is ridiculous like that, and he is apparently partial to the fond exasperation he gets in return, which is usually in the form of her huffing or rolling her eyes. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>A love story told in parts, from the first time they met to the first time they fall into bed together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call me whatever, I just want to be yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EclecticRegard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticRegard/gifts).



> Decided to give this as an early Valentine's to my darling EclecticRegard! :D
> 
> (The mention of past dub-con refers to less than pleasurable sex while inebriated.)
> 
> Anyway, please excuse any typos/grammatical errors, as English is not my first language and this has not been beta read. This is also only the second time I write Criminal Minds, I think, so bear that in mind :P 
> 
> I love genderbending so decided to give it a shot for this pairing. Hope you'll enjoy! 
> 
> Beware the fluff!
> 
>  
> 
> **[EDIT:]**
> 
>  
> 
> Forgot to mention! For Hotch's and Reid's ages, I went by the D.O.B's on their Criminal Minds Wikia pages. Hotch's is November 2, 1965 and Reid's is October 9, 1981. So if the timeline goes after the year the episodes come out, then in this fic, when Hotch and Reid get together, it's around 2010, making them 45 and 29 respectively. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> **[/EDIT]**

 

**oOo**

The first time Spencer meets Aaron Hotchner, she braces herself as well as she can for the trite and predictable reactions she gets from interacting with anyone over the age of twenty-five (disbelief, outrage, amusement, unease, disrespect, condescendence; in any or all combinations). She has collected and organized several brackets of mental data, pertaining to the most likely reactions to her in relation to different parameters and variables. She divides it into age, gender, profession, environment, temperament, and situation, among other more detailed categories the more she learns.

Aaron Hotchner, for example, is a white (married, from the ring on his finger) alpha male in his late thirties, and a well-respected Special Agent and profiler at the BAU. He is part of a specialized team, thus used to working with competence and to tackle difficult cases. His temperament is, from what she has gathered, professional and level headed (‘hard-ass’ comes to mind as she remembers the gossip she has been unable to avoid hearing). The situation she is seeing him in is this: a white (single) female with a list of letters to her name that indicates a high level of intelligence, yet the D.O.B on her file indicates little to no practical experience due to her youth. She is, for lack of a better term of phrase, ‘wet behind the years’ and a ‘science nerd’ coming to play with the ‘big boys’.

It is not a favorable situation, as it will be her job to work for – and hopefully with – this man, and she is almost resigned to the lack of respect she fears may be coming despite Gideon’s reassurances. It is no matter, however, since she is nothing if not entirely used to being forced to fight for her place and then fight to keep it.    

“Doctor Spencer Reid, sir,” she begins with her chin tilted upwards and jutting out, holding out a hand in greeting, her shoulders forcefully thrown back in contrast to her usual slouch. Her body language screams of defiance, of someone used to being pushed around, and she is sure his sharp eyes catch and profile it accordingly. She wonders how much he sees when he spares a moment to give her an once-over, cannot help how eager she is to ask what conclusions he draws and how he made them. She notes absently that her stance has altered (relaxed but still taunt, in excitement instead; eyes wide, fingers twitching) and bites the inside of her cheek as he takes her hand and shakes it (big, warm hands with calluses; a strong, steady and dry grip. Like his posture: no-nonsense and professional). From the slight crinkle in the corner of his eyes and the twitch of his eyebrows, she would say he is either amused or annoyed. It would bother her if she wasn’t so impressed at his ability to embody ‘stoic’ to fascinating degrees.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner,” he returns, giving a slight nod of acknowledgement. “I’m looking forward to see what you will bring to the team. Gideon has had many good things to say about you. If you follow me, I’ll make introductions.”

She blinks, slightly off kilter at the to-the-point way of handling this meeting. It is not something she is overly used to, but not something she is entirely unaccustomed to either. She takes in these new turns of events and act accordingly; nodding in return and falling quickly into step behind him as she is led, presumably, to her new team. She is excited; finding it hard not to fidget and fumble with the strap of her shoulder bag, to keep her mouth shut and to not bombard the senior Agent with the constant stream of information running through her head.

The building, she notes, is cool compared to the outside, but she still feels heated and flushed in her sweater vest and cotton skirt. She is, however, glad for her choice of leather pumps with the bare minimum of heels, as she finds herself jogging slightly to keep up with the fast-paced Agent whose legs are considerably longer than her own. Her usual sneakers or flats would have been preferable, but she is trying to make a good impression and not look any more like a college freshman than she already does.

“We don’t have a case at the moment,” Agent Hotchner comments, eyebrows rising slightly when he catches sight of her struggle to keep up. His strides shorten but remains brisk, allowing her to breathe less raggedly, and she refuses to blush. “But that is liable to change at any moment. When it does, you’ll be assigned to one of us at all times and function mostly in a consulting capacity. This is not because you lack credentials, Doctor. We need to learn how to work with you just as much as you need to learn how to work with us.”

Spencer nods, liking the man despite herself. It has only been a couple of minutes, and she should be reserving judgment, not be blindsided by being treated as close to an equal as a newly assigned ‘rookie’ could hope for. It is pleasantly refreshing, however.

“I understand, sir,” she says in reply, taking some of her focus off of the older Agent in order to take in more of her surroundings. She finds herself jolted at the realization that she has narrowed down her focus so thoroughly; it’s usually not a problem unless she is reading something particularly captivating. Nonetheless, she scolds herself. Always keep your attention divided until you are secure to hone in on any specific point of interest. If she is to be working field, this will be important. She finds that she means it when she says, “I look forward to it, sir.”

The statistics of successful teamwork, and various methods, like when it is based off of a mutual understanding of respect and open-mindedness, rolls by in a quick succession of words that she only manages to suppress by biting her tongue hard.

Agent Hotchner’s eyes crinkle and his eyebrows twitch again. She finds herself hoping it’s not a sign of his annoyance, but is resigned to settle back and take stock the good old fashioned way. She will not be able to figure this man out without taking her time, that much is obvious. He gives little away in the tone of his voice and facial cues, mostly speaking through his body and shuttered eyes. There is a code to his eyebrows, to the small twitches around the corner of his eyes and lips, the clench of his fingers and the line of his shoulders. She makes a note to keep an eye on these points of interest in the future.

“I will give you rule number one right now, Doctor Reid,” Agent Hotchner says, snapping her out of her thoughts as they slow to a stop at the entrance of a bullpen office. He looms over her, eyes dark and intense as she stares up at him with wide, curious eyes. “No profiling the team.”

She flushes, feeling like she just got caught doing something naughty (well, maybe she did; was she profiling? Or simply trying to understand social cues? She doesn’t know where the line is drawn, yet). Stuttering out an agreement, she looks away and catches a group of people further inside the office, looking at them curiously where they stand by the door.

Agent Hotchner breaks the silence, sending the group a look Spencer can’t decipher. “Well then, let’s meet the team, Doctor Reid.”

She takes a breath, steels herself, and follows.

 

**oOo**

It takes Spencer two years, two months, eleven days and five hours to fall in love with Aaron Hotchner. Perhaps it is fairer to say it takes her approximately that long to realize what has happened, because if she is being honest with herself, she has no idea when _it_ happened beyond the initial way her focus honed in on the man the first time they met (two years, two months, eleven days and five hours ago). In the end, it matters little, because he is married and they work together. She has never been good with handling her emotions, or understanding normal social cues beyond her profiling, and finds it remarkably easy to simply ignore the problem in hopes that it will eventually go away.

She reminds herself: she is twenty-four and he is forty. She might have grown up before her time and known things she should not have known at ages too young, but she still missed entire experiences attributed to the ‘normal’ process of reaching adulthood. It does not make her any less of an adult, or any more of a child, but she _is_ an abnormality. Despite Morgan’s playful teasing when he call her his ‘pretty girl’, no one on her team has viewed her as a being of sexuality, or sensuality. It is, in part, true.

She lacks the feminine confidence and allure that comes from females growing up even-paced in a world of male dominance and male sexuality, those who knows how to play the game and turn it to their favor. She herself has little interest in love and sex when it is so closely related to the heteronormative. Instead of donning high heels to a pantsuit, wielding a gun and flashing a badge, her painted lips quirked in sharp, mocking and defensive smiles, she submerges herself in the asexual image of the quiet (though not really, as she’s prone to ramble without discrimination) little mouse. She is the girl in school who hid behind her intellect (who stood up and recited equations and algorithms and extensive facts with a little stuttering but without shame).

It is a myth that she could be all this and not crave physical affection, but she gets along just fine and people notice this, maybe comments on it ( _loosen up, a pretty thing like you could surely get some, you need it, to try it at least_ or _that’s okay, obviously you’re single for a reason_ ). The point, she thinks, is that perhaps Hotch will (or already has) notice her regard, but it will most likely be brushed off as a number of things (hero complex, a star struck crush, platonic fondness, respect). He would probably not suspect she brings herself off with a dildo and nimble fingers, thinking of his solid, strong presence covering her and pressing her down into her bed while his hands (big, strong and warm) roam her silly, willowy body and his eyes (intense, so intense) watch her every move (twitching, panting, moaning).

Squirming in her seat on the plane, Spencer flushes. It took approximately five minutes for her epiphany (she is _in love_ ) to delve into those forbidden thoughts (she has been _in lust_ forever), and she chances a glance around in the hopes that no one has noticed. It seems not: her team is exhausted from a job well done (too many children hurt, it never feels _well done_ ). She looks over at Hotch and freezes in a moment of guilt when he meets her eyes. She can read him now, sometimes, and he looks inquiring, puzzled, but she merely smiles weakly at him and shakes her head.

“Tired,” she mumbles, to which he nods in reply. She can’t hold his gaze, looks out of the window instead and wills her mind elsewhere. _Treasure Island,_ she thinks, and starts mentally flipping the pages.

She goes under for the rest of the trip, valiantly ignoring the burning weight of Aaron’s eyes.

 

**oOo**

Aaron kisses her for the first time a little more than a year after Haley’s death. It is not a sudden thing, it is not entirely unexpected even if the timing is a bit of a surprise (after a dinner with the team, trailing behind and hidden from prying eyes for a few private, precious moments that had cropped up since Aaron’s divorce). It is a soft, warm sort of thing that makes her breath hitch and cheeks flush, feeling shaky and reeling in a rush of delighted adoration. Aaron is holding onto the back of her neck with one warm, steady hand while the other is tilting her chin up. He has a habit of making her feel safe and enveloped in his presence, and this is no different. The noise she makes is somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, and she would take offensive to the feeling of Aaron smirking into the kiss if she had been operating on full mental capacity. But she most certainly is _not_ , because she is thinking things like _breathtakingly amazing_ and _swooning_ (which is embarrassing enough).   

“All right?” Aaron mumbles after breaking the kiss off gently, breathing across her wet lips and nuzzling his nose along hers. For a moment she is confused: how long did they kiss for, where are the others, why the hell did he _stop_? But she manages to nod absently, shivering and distracted, because both Aaron’s hands are now cupping her cheeks while his thumbs caresses the sensitive skin underneath her eyes. He smiles, kissing her one last time before pulling back. “Good.”

She says, “You are _impossible_ ,” but she means _irresistible_ , and she fears he knows it all too well from the way his smile is turning distinctly smug. She hits his chest with the back of her hand and rolls her eyes, stepping back and out of his hold. They are both reluctant, but if they do not make a move to leave, someone from their team will go back inside the restaurant to check where they went. There are things they need to talk about, before either one of them are ready to field questions from their friends, but Spencer is not that worried. They have both been shattered and broken over the years, but they have always had each other’s back, and she is too content and carelessly happy right now _not_ to put faith in what they have been, what they are, and what they could become.

“Let’s get dinner, just the two of us, next time,” Aaron comments, helping her into her coat because he is ridiculous like that, and he is apparently partial to the fond exasperation he gets in return, which is usually in the form of her huffing or rolling her eyes. 

“I would be amiable to that,” she replies with a coy smile, securing a lock of stray hair behind her ear as they walk outside, Aaron going first and holding the door open for her. They are greeted by Morgan and Emily, the rest having already left by cab or car.

“Everything all right in there?” Morgan asks, eying them both with narrowed eyes and making Spencer share an amused glance with Aaron.

“Just some trouble with the wardrobe,” Spencer hedges, smiling. “They couldn’t locate my coat.”

“Mmm,” Morgan hums, suspicious as always.

“Derek’s giving me a ride, we were waiting for you,” Emily explains. “We wondered if one of you needed one as well. Reid? Hotch?”

Aaron shakes his head, reaching out to ghost a hand down Spencer’s back discreetly. “I took my car here, and Reid’s apartment is on my way. Thanks though. See you at work.”

Well, so much for being subtle, Spencer thinks with a wry smile as she says her own good byes. Aaron’s hand is resting on the small of her back while he guides her to where he parked his car, grinning at the knowing look she shoots him. Morgan’s eyebrows are threatening to leave his forehead, they’re raised so high. Emily merely looks gleeful and strangely satisfied, winking at Spencer as they leave. ‘ _Well’_ , she thinks with great amusement, ‘ _that supposed secret lasted for about five minutes’_.

Aaron does not seem to mind.

 

**oOo**

The first time they have sex – _carnal relations, fucking, making love_ – they are at Spencer’s apartment, not too many days after their first kiss. She thinks Aaron wants to give her this, an act of ceding control rather than an attempt to keep her out of his own home. She does not want to overthink it, like she overthinks almost everything, but it feels important somehow. Aaron has a habit of attaching meaning to almost everything he does ( _allows to be done, makes happen_ ), speaking through his actions as fluently as Spencer speaks in statistics and obscure facts. His motivations behind his actions are almost more important than what he actually ends up doing. What he is doing now, however, is too distracting to analyze in any other fashion than _yes, good_ and _fuck, more please_. She has come to realize emotional attachment really heightens her sexual experience, to the point where she is pretty much reduced to a begging, shameless wreck. Aaron seems to be enjoying this immensely, from the way he whispers embarrassing compliments along her skin and across her lips.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, large hands sweeping down her ribs to grip her tiny waist. She feels small and vulnerable underneath him, blanketed by his broad body where he lies between her legs. She shivers when his hands move again, slipping under her to cup her ass and hitch her hips up while her grinds down. It drags his erection against her sex, causing her to gasp at the sensation of hard flesh pressing against her wet heat. He had spent what had felt like hours eating her out, making her tremble apart with his name on her lips and leaving her throbbing and sensitive, muscles twitching and a familiar empty feeling she knows will only be satisfied once he is inside of her.

“Please,” she whimpers, because there is no need for pride here, not with this. She wants him, she is done feeling guilty and ashamed of this fact, and she does not hesitate to reach for what she needs. “Please Aaron.”

He groans, either because of her words or the way she is arching up into him, scratching her nails down his back gently until she can grab at him and push him closer still. She does not care which, just strains her neck to steal a wet, messy kiss as her legs wrap around his waist and twitch her hips in aborted thrusts in his grip.

“Shh,” he soothes, making her realize she has been mewling and gasping, desperation mounting as his hard cock rubs against her clit, parting her labia and smearing her arousal between them. She can feel herself clenching and unclenching in anticipation for penetration, biting impatiently at Aaron’s lower lip and causing him to huff a laugh. Chiding her gently, he murmurs, “Impatient,” before dipping his head down to suck at her nipple, which is already peaked and raw from his earlier ministrations. She twitches in his grip, growling in frustration, and reaches between them to guide him inside. He pulls his mouth away, tsking in amused reprimand, and moves to his knees and captures her hands in his own. He pins them over her head and leans down to silence her heated complaints with a deep, unhurried kiss. She clings to him with her legs, crossed behind his back, desperately keeping their connection where she is soaking his erection with her arousal.

“You’re lovely like this,” he sighs, kissing her cheek and biting at her ear. She squirms, whining.

“Fuck you,” she gasps, flushed and wanting, not caring how or what she says. She needs him _now_.

He laughs, switching to holding her hands with one of his, and reaching with his free hand to guide himself to her opening. In one, smooth thrust he is buried deep; thick and long inside her, filling her up and chasing the empty feeling away. It aches a little, she is tight and he is larger than her dildo, which is the only thing she has had regular sex with since she lost her virginity at twenty-two. It had been an ill-advised but well-meaning night out to belatedly celebrate her twenty-first, after it came out she had never been celebrated, much less taken out for a few drinks and dances with strangers. She regrets the lack of clarity of the moment, if not the act, and is simply grateful she had retained enough wit to insist on a condom. That she had bled and ached had been unfortunate, but she has since discovered that too much alcohol impedes arousal to sufficiently ease penetration.

Here and now, she has had nothing but a glass of white wine for dinner (garlic chicken wrapped in bacon, served with rice, because it is one of the few courses she can cook and she had been advised that taco gratin was not ‘date food’). She cannot think of an occasion where she had been more aroused, finding it hard to direct her thoughts as Aaron starts to move. She is a trembling wreck, having already been brought to orgasm twice by Aaron’s mouth and hands, and she is so sensitive she is sobbing. Yet she cannot do anything but beg for more. It is exhilarating, tantalizing, and better than she has imagined over the years. She has pictured him rough, gentle, but always amazing and he is, oh Gods, _he is._  

“Harder,” she gasps, arms around his neck and feet planted on the bed now for leverage as she attempts to meet his rhythm with her own. “Come on Aaron, please, I need to feel you. _God_.”

He groans in her ear and thrust into her hard, grinding down and pressing her into the bed. He barely pulls out before he shoves back inside, the gentle rocking from before escalating to a rough, aching rhythm that has her throwing her head back with a moan. Her breaths are being fucked out of her – little _ah-ah-ah_ ’s – and her hips are squirming to find the right angle, until his cock hits her _just right_ and she swears, frantic with need.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whimpers, biting and kissing whatever she can reach – his shoulder, his neck – while his hand clenches around her wrists. His free hand is cupping her breast, fingers moving to twist a nipple, as he mouths at the sensitive skin behind her ear. She bruises so easily she is sure she will be covered in marks, manages to think she should retaliate, and bites down hard at a patch of skin. Aaron’s hips shudders in their motion before it evens out, his thrusts faster now but just as forceful.

“You feel so good,” she hears herself gasping, her voice high and breathless. “ _Aaron_.”

“Yes,” is his reply, voice rough and low against her ear, and suddenly they are kissing and she is losing herself in the heat of him, straining up into him, clenching and unclenching her hands in longing to touch him. That she is denied is more thrilling than she would have anticipated, though she is self-aware enough to know of her submissive inclinations in bed. She cannot find it in herself to think much of it, too lost in the moment of pleasure, the tightening knot of desire in her gut boiling her blood. She is helplessly twitching, her nerves on fire, and she is so close now, clenching down so hard on the stiff cock inside of her that it _must_ be hurting him. He breaks the kiss, hissing, and stares down at her with dark, intense eyes. His hair is wet from sweat, his forehead gleaming, and his cheeks are flushed. He has never looked so good, she thinks, licking her lips and tasting his saliva.

“Are you close, sweetheart?” he breathed out, grunting as his pace never falters. She nods, not trusting her voice not to crack right now, but it is a moot point before he is reaching down with his free hand to press a thumb against her clit. She shouts out in startled pleasure at the pressure, thrashing her head to the side and biting her lower lip on a sob as she quakes around him. Roughly circling her swollen bundle of nerves, he brings her to her third orgasm with ease, the aching pleasure of his cock hitting the right spot over and over again dragging it all out until she is fairly rolling her eyes back and hissing his name out like a blessing or a curse.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he bites out, fucking her through her tremors, letting go of her hands to grasp her hips with both hands and _pound_ into her. She is dazed, her breath hitching with moans and whimpers as she comes down, weak in her sated pleasure. Her inner muscles are fluttering around his cock as she tries her best to help him along, licking her lips at the way he moans, his eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed.

“Come on,” she whispers, urging him on, enjoying the way his pace is stuttering and frantic, even as she is nearing oversensitivity. “Come on, Aaron. You feel so good in me, _ngh_.”

He gasps, shoving himself as deep as he can manage, hunching over her and burying a shout in her neck as he comes. She soothes her hands down his back, gently pulling him down to rest heavily along her body, enjoying his weight pressing her down. His hips twitch in a few more short, aborted thrusts, before he stills and goes lax above her.

“Fuck,” he breathes where his face is still pressed into her neck, his lips brushing her skin. She hums in reply, her eyes closed as she continues to run her hands and fingers up and down his sweaty back, feeling scars and moles scattered in her path. They lie together in comfortable silence for a few moments, catching their breaths, before Aaron gets up on his elbow and reaches down between them to hold onto the condom as he pulls out of her, his erection gone soft and sated. She watches him roll to the side, tying the condom off before flinging it down off the bed where the floor is protected by his briefs. Making a noise of discontent at the distance between them, Spencer reaches over to pull him in again and settles herself along his side, leg thrown over his hips and head resting on his shoulder with an arm across his chest.

“That was extremely satisfying,” she comments, voice sounding lazy and sated. Aaron chuckles and she enjoys the way she can feel it, the way his chest is moving and how she moves with it.

“I’m glad,” he replies, sounding smug and satisfied, to which she slaps his half-heartedly on his chest, grazing a nipple and making his breath hitch. He groans, and complains, “Too soon.”

Spencer grins before placing a soothing kiss on his neck, nuzzling in as close as she can and sighing in contentment. “Mm, sleep now.”

Aaron makes a noise of agreement, before shifting to hitch the covers up and over them, tucking her in by his side and placing a kiss to her forehead. Before long, she is drifting off, the smell of sex and sweat and Aaron associating themselves with the feeling of warmth, safety and sleepy satisfaction in her mind. ‘ _This_ ’, she thinks, ‘ _Let me never forget this_.’ Aaron’s fingers running through her tangled hair is the last thing that registers before she is asleep. She is happy in a way she has not been in too long (if she ever was).

Wherever they will end up, it will be worth it.

 

**oOo**

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely happy with how this came out, but it's been lying around on my computer for ages so decided to fuck it and just wrap it up, or else it would just gather dust lol :,D


End file.
